Shadow Of My Former Self
by blue peanut m and m
Summary: It was supposed to be a stop to recharge batteries, but when have the Winchester's ever caught a break? An overheard conversation, and a series of unusual deaths, and the boys soon find themselves straight back in the middle of a hunt.
1. Chapter 1

**Shadow Of My Former Self.**

**Summary. . . . . . . . . . .It was supposed to be a stop to recharge batteries, but when have the Winchester's ever caught a break? An overheard conversation, and a series of unusual deaths, and the boys soon find themselves straight back in the middle of a hunt. **

**Disclaimer. . . . . . . . . . . Not mine, just messing with Kripke's boy's.**

**A.N. . . . . . . . . . . . My head is a mass of plot bunnies at the moment, but this one bit harder, so I'm running with it. This came about from a challenge from my great friend, and sista from another mista, Darksupernatural. Thanks Kiddo. As always thanks for stopping by, catch you soon. Peanut x**

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><p>She knew she shouldn't have come down here, had been told over and over again to take the longer route back home, no matter how much longer it took; but a double shift at the end of an already long week, and the roller coaster condition of one of her patients, had shrouded her body in a tiredness no amounts of coffee could break. Eager to get home, undressed, and clamber into clean sheets and rest her head upon cool pillows that were becoming more and more welcoming by the minute, she had ignored her peers advice, and her own usual misgivings about this place, and taken the short cut home.<p>

Her mind drifted as she walked, and she found herself thinking about the patient who had taken up most of her time this week; about how he had arrived in her care battered and broken, how her treatments had brought him back from the brink, how his body had rejected the help, how she had tried again and failed again and tried again and failed again, until finally last night he had taken a turn for the better, and her treatments seemed to be holding; but the whole experience had drained her, and she wondered, not for the first time, if she should have just slept on the couch in the residents lounge. As she turned down yet another streets whose lights had been shattered, and whose buildings were run down or boarded up, that couch seemed even more comfortable, and the longer route home, a lot more safer.

She was being followed. She was absolutely sure of it.

She fought down the panic that instantly did what all those coffees hadn't achieved and broke through the tiredness that consumed her. She should have stayed at the hospital, or taken the longer way home. She resisted the urge to run, maybe she was wrong, maybe in her exhaustive state she had heard things that weren't there; but as a shadow flickered across her peripheral vision, and a glass bottle skittered across the pavement from behind her, it's chinking echoing loudly about her before it smashed against an uneven paving stone in front of her, told her she wasn't.

Without turning she ran, pumping her legs past exhaustion and into sheer desperation, praying her efforts would be enough, that she would reach her street and the safety it offered; yet deep down she knew it wouldn't be, that the safety she craved would be that one step too far.

She screamed as hands grabbed at her, clutching at her coat, her bag, her hair, but knowing it would be a futile effort. What was it that film's tag line said, "in space no one can hear you scream," the same could be said for this part of town; well they heard you okay, but they all pretended they didn't.

She began to cry as she was tripped, her body crashing harshly to the ground, the air knocked from her lungs, her screams dwindling. Hands roughly clawed at her clothes, forcefully removing the garments before tattered and torn nails raked over her skin, tearing the flesh. She found her voice, her begging going unheard until they must have grown tired of her whining, the blow coming hard and fast out of nowhere to slam into her face, smashing her nose, the crack of cartilage loud, and instantly bringing a vivid redness and swelling to her eye.

The pleading stops as quick as it started, and instead she just wishes for it to be over, for it to be quick, and maybe, just maybe if she's lucky they'll be nice, and she won't have to live afterwards. She's picked up and thrown roughly against a wall, the sharp edges of the brickwork renting across her cheek and bare arms, and splitting her lip, the smashed glass of the bottle slicing through the tender flesh of her feet. "This is it," she thinks as the hands find the clasp of her bra and the lace of her panties, "time to say my goodbyes." She switches her mind off and waits for pain she knows will come; waits for the end when the pain will go away; waits for the darkness to take her, but it doesn't come.

Instead hands grab her, hands that are warm and gentle. They guide her tenderly away from the wall, and urge her onwards towards her home and safety. Instinctively she can't help but look back, bile rising to her throat and spilling from her mouth as she does so, the scene behind her horrifying, and she wonders how she could not have heard the massacre that has taken place. Three corpses lay strewn across the pavement, their eyes and mouths open, caught forever in silent horror and unimaginable agony, two with their stomachs ripped open, their entrails spilling out, the third with its head twisted at an angle not humanly possible.

It's too much and she looks down, the moon choosing that moment to peek around the low hanging clouds, and she dimly wonders why there's only one shadow, even though she can feel the person holding her. Feeling the hands that had been helping her leave, she turns back around to see her would be rescuer, only to find she is all alone, the distantly retreating footsteps the only sign that anybody had even been there. Hurriedly she picks up her dropped purse, and wraps the remnants of her tattered clothing around her, before she stumbles away.

Back at the hospital, a shadowed figure moves gracefully through the silent and still hallways. It passes unnoticed by nurses watching TV, grabbing a quick five minutes while all is quiet, and reaches its destination. Entering through the open door it steps inside and makes its way to the bed and the patient recovering upon it. It ignores the crashing of doors, running footsteps, and angry shouts that echo down the hallway; ignores the hand that reaches out behind him. Reaching out itself, it presses against a body that has battled so hard, that has relapsed and fought back time and time again, and with one touch takes its life.

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><p><strong>A.N. . . . . . . . . Well what do you think? Worth carrying on with? Let me know. Will be back soon with chapter 2, Peanut x<strong>


	2. Chapter 2

**Shadow Of My Former Self.**

**Summary. . . . . . . . . . .It was supposed to be a stop to recharge batteries, but when have the Winchester's ever caught a break? An overheard conversation, and a series of unusual deaths, and the boys soon find themselves straight back in the middle of a hunt. **

**Disclaimer. . . . . . . . . . . Not mine, just messing with Kripke's boys.**

**A.N. . . . . . . . . . . . Thanks to everyone who read, and to those who reviewed chapter 1, I very much appreciate it. Without further ado, here's chapter 2. Peanut x**

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><p>The growl of the Dodge's engine tore through the breaking dawn's chorus, a warning of the storm that was fast approaching, scattering the orchestra's song and sending its players flying in all directions, desperate to avoid the maelstrom that was descending upon it. Its rusted grey body ripped and forced its way through the low lying fog as it hastened to get its two chargers to safety before the worst of the weather hit. It relished the freedom it was given, as its driver, for the first time in a long time, treated her, allowing her to run free, to speed down the deserted back roads. Inside a calmness fell over the two occupants; a calmness that had been missing for months as they both battled in their own way, to deal with the death of their friend and the looming battle ahead.<p>

The roar turned into a rumble as finally, after miles of endless driving, Dean pulled into the lot of a decent looking motel, and stopped in front of the office. He looked over at his still dozing brother and contemplated for a moment if he should wake him, before deciding to let him sleep while he could, and opened his own door. They could no longer take the risk of using fake names on credit cards, the Leviathan's were on to their scam, the brother's very nearly caught as they'd made their way to pick up new cards at one of the many PO boxes they had; so money garnered from hustling, something he hadn't done in a long time, was used to procure a room for several days, before he sauntered back out to wake up Sam.

Sam stretched the weariness from his limbs as he stepped out of the Impala's warm interior, before wrapping his long arms around himself as the wind picked up and the bite of the new day's air, and the promise of bad weather to come, hit. He quickly grabbed his bags off Dean, offering a quick "thanks," and smiling as he received a "ya welcome" and a smile back. It hadn't been too long ago when Sam thought he might never see that smile again. The strain of their loss, and their fruitless search for an answer to defeat the black blooded nemesis, had created a new chasm between them; it wasn't nearly as bad as Dean's black days after their Father's death, or as bad as Sam's dark blood drinking days, but it was still a chasm that Sam had thought was, once again, never going to be crossed. These past few hunts though had changed things between them, the clown incident had brought out Dean's sense of humor once more, and the last one, when both boys mortality was on the line, and only quick thinking on Dean's part, and a connection built over the years had saved them, had closed the gap substantially. Both men had been hurt, although not seriously, which was why Dean had taken the room for longer than he normally would. They needed a rest, a reprieve, a break away from hunting, a chance to recharge the batteries.

Sam felt even more relief wash over him as he stepped into the room, nearly colliding with his sibling as he stopped short in the doorway. As he turned to his brother, questions on his lips, he was happy to see a genuine smile light up his brother's face, a smile that for the first time in a long time reflected in his eyes. He stood to one side as Dean practically drooled over the room they had been given, a room that to Sam's weary eyes was cheesy and downright tacky, but a room that to Dean was Chevy heaven. Headboards were made from the grills of, what to Sam's eyes looked like, two 68 Chevelle SS's; the chairs that sat around the small table were bucket seats from later models, the small couch looked suspiciously like the bench seat he had not five minutes ago been sleeping in. He smiled as Dean stole a look into the small bathroom, coming out moments later with towels emblazoned with the Chevy logo, and an almost giddy look upon his face, "they have a power shower and the tap handles are made from SS badges."

Chuckling at his brother's happiness, Sam closed the door and made his way over to what he knew would be his bed, dropping his bag onto the floor and placing the local paper he had picked up from the stand outside on top of it. He wearily lowered his aching frame to the bed, muttering a "go ahead" as Dean inquired if he wanted the first shower, listening as the sound of the shower starting coincided with the heavy patter of rain upon the roof, and the rumble of thunder in the distance. Feeling grimy, and knowing he would sleep better after he got cleaned up, Sam forced himself to sit back up, another chuckle leaving his lips as he heard, through the paper thin walls, the sigh of contentment as Dean stood underneath the spray.

Deciding he risked falling asleep where he sat, he decided to pass time by reading the paper, his eyes skimming across a small front page article about a death at the local hospital that would be covered further inside, and focusing instead on main headline, a violent crime in another part of town that had left 3 people dead. He was halfway through reading the report, something about it triggering off alarms in his mind, when the bathroom door opened and Dean emerged in a thick fog of steam. He listened as Dean raved about the greatness of the shower, and his own body's aches reminded him that it needed some TLC of its own. With little more thought to the gruesome deaths, he tossed the paper aside, grabbed his clean clothing and set off to get a shower of his own.

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><p><strong>A.N. . . . . . . . . . . Sorry for the shortness of the chapter, hopefully the content made up for it? Catch you soon with chapter 3. Peanut x<strong>


	3. Chapter 3

**Shadow Of My Former Self.**

**Summary. . . . . . . . . . .It was supposed to be a stop to recharge batteries, but when have the Winchester's ever caught a break? An overheard conversation, and a series of unusual deaths, and the boys soon find themselves straight back in the middle of a hunt. **

**Disclaimer. . . . . . . . . . . Not mine, just messing with Kripke's boys.**

**A.N. . . . . . . . . . . . Thanks to everyone who read, and to those who reviewed chapter 3, I very much appreciate it. Without further ado, here's chapter 3. Peanut x**

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><p>He adjusted his weighty backpack upon his shoulders as he kicked at the small stones, broken glass and intermittent tufts of grass at the side of the road, which constituted a sidewalk in this part of town, as he walked through the steadily increasing rain, as slow as possible back home. Water cascaded from his shorn head to bounce off prominent cheekbones, and be caught in the threadbare fabric of his coat. He wanted to turn away as the large oppressive building loomed up in front of him, but he knew to do so would only cause further problems later on. As he turned into the driveway, he couldn't help the glimmer of hope that resonated throughout his body; the car was gone, that was good, maybe He would be gone too. The hope soon vanished though; he'd been fooled before by the missing car, he refused to be so again, the cost was too painful.<p>

Walking up the porch steps, avoiding the warped ones he knew now by heart, he reached out a shaking hand and slowly turned the knob on the screen door, barely pulling it open enough to squeeze his body through, knowing that if he opened it any further the resulting whining screech would alert all near to his presence. Pushing down on the main doors handle, he quickly skirted inside, easing both doors quietly closed behind him. He didn't bother with turning on the lights to ease away some of the gloom, instead relying upon the sporadic bursts of lightening, and a knowledge of his surroundings to lead his way stealthily towards the stairs, and the moderate safety his bedroom created. He stopped briefly to pick an apple out of the fruit bowl, his stomach growling and reminding him that his last meal had been yesterday morning; a note placed beside the glass dome sending his sense of unease heightening, his Mom had taken the car, called into the hospital due to another nurse calling in sick, and wouldn't be back until late that night, which meant his "father" was here. The apple dropped back into the bowl as panic assaulted him, he needed to get to his room, he needed the security of its locks.

He tried to listen, to figure out where the attack would come from, knowing instinctively that there would be one, there was no way his "father" would miss this opportunity to inflict pain whilst his Mom was not there. He thought he heard a noise behind him and instinctively ran for the stairs, all thought of stealth now deserted, taking them two at a time, his head looking back the way he came, his heart thudding in his chest; but the noise had been nothing, and the danger was not behind. It was as he turned around that he realized his mistake. Heavy steel toed boots partially covered by worn denim were planted upon the top step, blocking his way. He tried to stop, tried to get his feet from closing the gap even further, but it was no use. Already off balance, he could do little but flail as the size twelve boot thudded into his chest and his momentum sent him crashing back down the stairs.

He landed heavily on top of his bulky backpack, the air stolen from his lungs, the edges of books digging painfully into his back. He tried to move as his "father's" chilling laughter echoed through the house, and footsteps thundered down the stairs, but it was as if he were temporarily paralyzed. He finally urged his body to move, tried desperately to remove himself from the burdensome backpack and dart back out of the front door, almost believing his luck was finally turning as his hand gripped the handle, only for his fate to be sealed as a hand viciously grabbed the neck of his hoodie. Fear and desperation made him fight, he knew it made things worse, but panic had set in and he couldn't stop his actions, pleased as he heard a grunt of pain as his foot connected with his "father's" knee; that pleasure soon dissipated though as a roar of rage rumbled from within the drunken man, and his solid fist smashed harshly into his face.

As blood poured from his nose, and his eye started to close, he knew this was it. Never before had his "father" caused a wound that was visible for all to see, preferring to batter and bruise places that could be covered with jumpers and long sleeves. The panic increased to terror. He felt weightlessness as he was picked up and thrown across the room, only coming to a halt when he smashed into his Mom's china cabinet, dropping to the floor with a cry of agony, amidst broken plates and glasses. Before he knew it, he was thrown again, the small end table and lamp stopping his fall this time, the table breaking, the lamp tumbling off but the bulb surviving, his body not as lucky as he heard then felt his arm snapping. He barely had time to breathe through the pain before he was set upon, steel toes and closed fists striking every inch of his slight frame. Darkness encroaches on the edge of his vision and he wills his body to shut down, to surrender to it; but just as he starts to go under, just as the pain starts to ease, the beatings stop.

He lays there spent, hardly daring to breathe, to move, listening to the thudding of his own heart beating in his ears; stiffening and letting out a pitiful moan, as the thudding subsides and other noises make themselves aware; a fight, fists striking against flesh, cries of pain. He tries to raise his head, but doing so requires effort, so he instead moves his eyes, trying to see what is happening, his position on the floor, and the big couch in his way, preventing him from seeing anything. Movement in his peripheral vision catches his attention, and he moves his eyes to follow it, blinking a few times to try and fix his muddled brain; that can't be right, surely that can't be right. He listens to the sound of the struggle intensifying, and knows he's not imagining it, but what he sees contradicts everything; there's only one shadow projected from the lamps undamaged bulb. He tries to think how that can be, but thinking causes his already pounding head to rage even more, and it's all he can do to keep from falling under. He panics when, as quickly as it started, the fighting stops; jumps as a hand grips his abused flesh, and he thinks for a minute his "father" has won, but the hand is soft and gentle. He tries to open eyes that had squeezed shut in fright, eventually succeeding, and he looks around for his savior, only to hear footsteps retreating, only to find he's been left alone; his "father's" body lying motionless peeking out from behind the couch, his head twisted so that it faced backwards, his sightless dead eyes seeming to stare right at him.

She wandered down the quiet hallways, periodically checking into rooms, reading stats and recording numbers. Exhaustion was evident upon his face, and clearly seen in her slow movements. She should have told them "no" when they called and asked her to work; should have told them to find someone else, that she was just too tired; but she needed the money, the double time meaning that she would have enough saved to do what she had been planning. Her thought's drifted to her son, her shining light, and the dire situation she had brought upon him. She wasn't stupid, she knew what was going on, there was just too many accidental spills and falls, too many suspicious bruises, she knew she should have just gathered him up and rushed them both straight out of there, but she was scared he would quickly find them, and dreaded to think what would happen if he did. So she had grabbed all the overtime she could, and saved, and now she had enough. Just two more hours and they would be out of there and safe, just two more hours until they could start living their lives again.

So caught up in her thoughts, she failed to see the danger creeping up behind her, only turning as footsteps echoed loudly down the hallway, and a keening wail screamed out, sounding extra loud in the otherwise quiet ward. She opened her mouth to protest the noise, but nothing came out as a chill suddenly surrounded her. Her eyes wandered to her shadow projected upon the wall, and she couldn't help but be terrified as she watched as it seemed to be engulfed by another figure. She watched in horror as its hand reached out and pushed against her shadows torso, and she felt a piercing feeling of pressure that seemed to shatter through her ribs and explode within her chest. As she fell to the floor, her body already dying, she couldn't help but think of the fate she had left her son to suffer.

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><p><strong>A.N. . . . . . . . . . That's all for now folks! How was it? Did you enjoy? Sorry about the wait, work has been crazy and I've had little energy to write when I've been getting home. Oh, and ziggy, I'll put a Sammy shower into the next chapter for you, I promise. Will be back soon with more. Peanut x<strong>


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